


The Ties That Bind

by sal_si_puedes



Series: Lamen Week 2020 [7]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heavy Angst, M/M, Prison, Prompt Fill, Sequel, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24944704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_si_puedes/pseuds/sal_si_puedes
Summary: Soul Bonds are one-sided – there’s usually mutual affection, sometimes even infatuation or love (or both), but only one party feels the crippling need to be with the other constantly and at all costs. If separated at length from their soulmate, the compromised party is gradually crushed by longing, panic, and sheer hopelessness, and, eventually, they die from the wounds the loss of their soulmate has inflicted upon their hearts.Sequel to / Set in the same ‘verse as“Bleeding Heart”.You might want to read that one first.Four weeks after the shooting, Damen is in prison, awaiting his trial. One day, he is unexpectedly dragged from his cell by the guards and brought into the visiting room.Written as a contribution to#Lamen Week 2020over on tumblr - Day 7: Angst.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Series: Lamen Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797085
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39
Collections: Lamen Week 2020





	The Ties That Bind

**Author's Note:**

> I know that Illinois abolished death penalty in 2011, but “in this universe” it’s still a valid option.
> 
> Thank you so much, Carrie, for the beta!!

“Princess.”

The voice piercing through the fog clouding Damen’s mind sounds like a cross between the lash of a leather whip and a rusty laugh. _Princess._ Not King, not Prince, but Princess. That’s what they call him here, that’s what they have been calling him ever since he arrived here four weeks ago, his jail name, but Damen doesn’t care. He keeps his eyes closed.

“Hey, _Princess_. Rise and shine.”

Damen reluctantly opens his eyes and blinks. Once. Twice. Everything is blurry. He can’t move. His head aches as if an axe is buried in his skull, right between his eyes. He feels heavy and numb, yet everything hurts. He can feel his heart in his chest – not the beating of it, just its being there. 

“Get up, Princess,” the guard says, unlocking the barred door to Damen’s cell and stepping inside. He walks up to Damen’s cot and lets his truncheon slap into his open left hand. “You got a visitor.”

Damen tries to remember what day it is, but his brain fails. He is pretty sure, though, that it isn’t time yet for his attorney’s next visit, so it can’t be him. He closes his eyes again and curls up tighter on his cot, but it doesn’t ease the pain one bit.

“Yeah, yeah,” the guard says and takes another step closer to the cot. “I know.” A firm hand grabs Damen’s shoulder, the fingers digging into his muscles hard. “You don’t want to see anyone, but in here it’s not about what you want. When I say get up, you get up. So, get up, Princess. You have a visitor.”

It feels like sand paper dragging over his eyeballs when Damen opens his eyes once more. He looks up at the guard and half huffs, half moans. He’s not afraid of being hit, he doesn’t fear a beating. Sometimes he wishes, sometimes he even _prays_ for someone to rough him up, although actually he never prays, but so far the only thing remotely resembling violence he has had to endure in here has been a little manhandling from the guards during his first few days inside, which had stopped after a week or so. And after that, nothing.

The hand’s grip on his shoulder tightens, and then there is a tug, too, dragging him from the cot and onto the floor. With the tip of the truncheon under his chin and the fingers still iron teeth in his muscles, Damen scrambles to his knees and then to his feet. He lets the guards shackle his ankles and wrists, and then he lets himself be led out of his cell, along the hallway and into the visitor’s room where the guard sits him down in one of the chairs at the long table, the bullet proof glass separating him from whoever is going to come through the door on its other side to see him. His gaze drops to his lap. His hands are still shackled; and there are shackles around his feet as well, connected by an iron chain just like ones on his wrists. He frowns. Every time he looks at his hands and feet, the shackles surprise him, even though he knows they’re there. 

The door closes behind him, and on the other side of the glass, a buzzer sounds and a door swings open. Someone enters the room on the other side of the glass; and a few steps in, the steps briefly hesitate, then quicken again. A chair is being pulled out, someone’s sitting down, the chair is adjusted. The mike opens, static, then, a voice.

“Hello, lover.”

Damen’s heart misses a beat, and his vision almost instantly blurs. When he lifts his head, he can feel tears pooling in his eyes.

“You came,” he whispers.

Laurent nods, slowly, his face unreadable like stone, his eyes as blue and as cold as deep sea ice. When Laurent speaks again, his voice is flat and void of emotion.

“You look like shit.”

Laurent has lost weight since that night, he’s even paler than usual, and there are dark circles under his eyes. His lips are dry and cracked. He looks like shit, too, but Damen doesn’t say that out loud. Still, Laurent on that other side of the glass, looking like shit, is the most beautiful thing Damen has ever seen, and for the first time in four weeks, Damen feels as if he can breathe again. He bites his lips to stifle a moan.

“You don’t feel so good, do you?” Laurent asks calmly, tilting his head ever so slightly and narrowing his eyes. 

That is the understatement of the century, and Damen wants to say something like that, some snappy comeback, but he can’t. Instead, he bites his lips even harder and shakes his head. “A little better now,” he murmurs and tries for a smile.

Laurent leans back in his chair and nods.

“Good.”

The iron belt that has been wrapped around Damen’s chest ever since the day after the shooting and that has been tightening constantly ever since loosens a little. Damen takes a long and deep and very shaky breath.

And waits.

The last time he had seen Laurent, Laurent had been lying in a hospital bed in ICU, tubes and electrodes and clips and patches with cables leading to various monitors attached to his unconscious body, beeping sounds and repulsive smells, and Laurent looking very small and very young and very, very fragile in the middle of it all. At least he had been breathing on his own, which Dr. Paschal had described as a potentially good sign.

Damen had been standing next to the bed, his now clean hand gently resting upon Laurent’s pale fingers on top of the covers, careful not to dislocate the cannula protruding from the back of Laurent’s hand.

Laurent had been lying completely still for the longest time, but then, the hand underneath Damen’s had stirred, Laurent’s fingers had curled a little; and Damen couldn’t help but squeeze them lightly, holding his breath.

Laurent’s eyes had fluttered open, and Laurent had blinked, his gaze slowly clearing and locking with Damen’s. The small smile that had spread on Damen’s face had been inevitable, and for a couple of seconds it had been mirrored on Laurent’s face.

Then it had gradually faded, and Laurent’s eyes had flickered, and then closed off completely, becoming an impenetrable wall of ice within the span of just a few more seconds.

“Go,” was all Laurent had croaked, his voice husky and raw. He had held Damen’s gaze mercilessly until Damen nodded and looked away. Damen had then known that Laurent remembered everything from the night before, the night of the shooting. Laurent knew that Auguste was dead and that it was Damen who had killed him.

He hadn’t been able to move, though. He had just stood there, his head bowed, staring at his hand on top of Laurent’s, until a group of nurses and doctors entered the room and ushered him outside. In the waiting area, the cops had already been waiting for him, and he had been arrested. He’d been brought here, and now, after four endless weeks of pain and desperation and need, he’s facing Laurent again. Through glass. Shackled. 

“You killed my brother,” Laurent states calmly, breaking the silence and causing Damen to flinch and the chains between his cuffs to rattle a bit. “I want you to look at me.”

The mere sound of Laurent’s voice forces Damen to obey, and locking eyes with Laurent again feels like a dull knife to Damen’s gut. 

“My father was killed that night, too,” Laurent continues, his even voice betraying no emotion. “Did you know that? They don’t know for sure who did it yet, but they will find out.” He pauses a little before he continues.

 _He’s alone,_ Damen thinks, _Laurent is utterly alone now._ It’s all Damen can think of, and it almost drives him out of his mind. 

“You killed my brother, and you will pay for it.”

Damen nods. He knows that he is potentially facing a death sentence for what he has done, and he’s at peace with that. He deserves to die.

Laurent’s eyes narrow, and Laurent tilts his head, his eyes still bearing into Damen’s like drills made of blue ice.

“Oh, my poor noble barbarian,” Laurent says and shakes his head. “Not like that. You’re not going to get the easy way out. That is a promise I can make you.”

Damen frowns. Laurent’s words come too quickly, and his brain has only begun to function again on a basic level a couple of minutes ago, so he doesn’t understand.

“You,” Laurent says, and Damen swallows. “You will suffer.”

Laurent leans forward in his chair, resting his lower arms on the table in front of him and folding his hands. 

“I will make you pay for what you did, and I’m going to tell you how. So you know exactly what your life from now on is going to look like.”

Damen’s heart starts to flutter erratically in his chest; and his fingertips, which have felt numb with a dull pain for the last couple of days, begin to prickle.

“In a few minutes, I will leave.”

Damen’s stomach drops, and for a moment it feels as if he’s going to throw up. His head is spinning, and there’s white noise in his ears. _No._

“You will need to beg me to stay then, because _this_ —” Laurent makes a vague gesture with his hand between himself and the glass— “because _this_ won’t have been enough. Not after such a long time.”

Damen groans. He thinks he knows where this is going, but a very small part of him still hopes he is wrong. Laurent wouldn’t do that to him.

“How long exactly has it been since the shooting? Four weeks?” Laurent tilts his head to the other side and regards Damen closely through the glass, like a scientist would look at a rare insect under a magnifying glass. “You seem to be doing not _too_ bad after four weeks,” he added after a moment. “Let’s see if you can make it through five, then, the next time.”

Laurent _would_ , Damen realizes, he would do that to him, and his heartbeats claw at the walls of his chest, threatening to tear it open. Laurent _knows_ , he knows everything, and he _would_.

After that, Laurent nods and sits back again. “Yes. I know. Nikandros. He came to me a few days after your arrest. He told me. He thought I’d—I don’t know what he thought, but this is how I know what we are. What _you_ are. You shouldn’t have told him. You really shouldn’t have told him.”

The longue in Damen’s mouth doesn’t seem to belong to him. His mouth is so dry he can barely speak, so he has to try two, three, four times to get a single word out, but even that one word is cut short by Laurent.

“Lau—”

“I _know_ , Damen,” Laurent says, and for the first time, Laurent’s voice rises a little. “And I know exactly how I’m going to make you pay, and I’m going to tell you now, so listen closely.” He exhales sharply, once, before he speaks again. “I will leave in a minute. You will beg me to stay. I might or I might not stay then, for another minute, maybe, but not longer. And then I will be back here in, let’s say, five weeks, and by that time, it will be all you can think about. You will want— _need_ it more than the air you almost won’t be able to breathe anymore by then. And then I will leave again, and you will beg me to stay, and I might or might not. And we’re going to repeat that. Again and again. I will come back here every couple of weeks, and I will leave again and you will both hate and crave my visits, and you will always, always beg me to stay when I rise to leave. You will not want to, but you won’t be able to help it in the end. Because not being with me is torture for you. And that is exactly what I want you to feel. Torture. For the rest of your life.”

Damen doesn’t know what to say. From the scrutinizing surveillance that Laurent is giving him, Damen knows that he’s is reveling in the success of his move. And Damen knows that Laurent likes what he finds under the looking glass. All Damen can think about is that Laurent is going to rise and leave in a minute, in less than a minute, and that he has no idea how he is going to survive it, and he knows all of it is showing on his face. He’s going to have to find a way to end this before—

And then Laurent opens his mouth again. 

“No, Damen, that won’t work. Nobody in here will touch you. I’ve made sure of that. I _own_ this place and everybody in it. The name _deVere_ means something in this facility. So, you’ll be the most guarded and the best protected inmate in the whole joint from now on, so don’t even _think_ about putting an end to this yourself or goad anyone into doing it for you. You won’t be able to, trust me. Your life is utterly safe in here. So, you _will_ live. You will _live_ because I want you to.”

Laurent nods, brusquely, and pushes his chair back. He rises, looks down at Damen one more time, nods again, and turns to leave.

“Goodbye, Damen,” he says, and it sounds almost as if he’s smiling. “See you in five weeks, then.”

He turns around and starts to walk away, and Damen can feel bile rising in his throat at the same time a word is trying to break free from his mouth. There’s a piercing pain in his chest and in his gut, and his shackled hands grip the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turn white. He’s not going to beg, he’s not. He fights the rising panic inside of him with everything he has. Laurent will leave and he will get through it, he has to.

Laurent’s finger is almost on the button that signals the guard to open the door and let him out. The panic surges, and all Damen can think about is that Laurent is going to leave. He can’t breathe, he feels like he’s drowning, suffocating, Damen doesn’t know. He feels like he’s dying. Laurent can’t leave. He can’t.

When Damen hears the sound of the buzzer, he knows that he’s going to lose the fight, he knows that he has lost. His vision begins to grow black around the edges. He’s going to pass out.

“Stay,” he whispers even though he doesn’t know if the microphone is still open. “Please, stay.”

Laurent stops in his movements, but it is already too late. Through the glass in the door leading from the visitor’s room Damen can see the guard who’s going to open the door any moment now to let Laurent out.

“Please,” he says again, a little louder this time. “Stay.”

Laurent shakes his head at the guard behind the door and turns around again. Slowly, he walks back to the table and nods. He sits down in the chair again, and narrows his eyes.

“All right. Since you asked so nicely. How long?”

Damen takes a deep breath, and he’s terrified by how much less it hurts now compared to five seconds ago.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, his mind racing, even though he does know. Because Laurent has told him. “A minute? Just another minute? Please?”

“Okay,” Laurent says icily and leans back against the backrest of his chair. After exactly sixty seconds, he rises again and leaves. This time, he doesn’t turn around when Damen calls out to him. This time, he leaves as Damen has known he would.

When the guard has dragged Damen back to his cell, Damen almost doesn’t make it to the toilet in the far back corner before his stomach violently turns and empties itself in excruciating heaves. Everything inside of him is raw and bleeding, and he vomits and gags until he almost passes out. 

When he’s finally done, he collapses onto his side and closes his eyes. He has no idea how he’s going to make it through the next five weeks, but he knows that he will. He has to, because that’s when he’s going to get to see Laurent again.

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [sal-si-puedes](https://sal-si-puedes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr - come and say "Hi!"!


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